


Ending Bits

by felinefelicitations



Series: Poetry Verse [7]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Character Death, Grief/Mourning, Incomplete, M/M, NOT FINISHED INCOMPLETE MEANS NOT FINISHED PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-27 01:29:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20037652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/felinefelicitations/pseuds/felinefelicitations
Summary: Scraps and pieces from the original planned end of Poetry Verse.





	1. Author Notes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [writernotwaiting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writernotwaiting/gifts).

This is exactly what it says on the tin; cut content, a story that was not posted, an incomplete draft of what was meant to be the _actual_ final story, and notes thereabouts. [writernotwaiting](https://archiveofourown.org/users/writernotwaiting/pseuds/writernotwaiting) asked me in a comment what I had been planning to do with the end of this, and after answering the comment with vague memories, I checked the old project folder and found these things. 

This is not a continuation announcement. According to my version history, all of these were written in 2013; I wouldn't even know where to start with all of this, because I would ultimately overhaul pretty much all of it into something unrecognizable. I'm also just flat not interested in it; this project ultimately lead to a severe mental health relapse. 

If you have any other questions or wonderings, I'm sorry. This is all that's left.

Thank you for reading, and still reading, this mess of a project all these years later. I might not reply in a timely manner to anyone's comments anymore, and rarely write anything new at all, but I do still try to read and get back to everyone when I can. 

**Table of Content**  
1\. - Author Notes (you are here)  
2\. - Rough of Chapter 32, notes on 33 and 34.  
3\. - Frost (loki dies. It hurts)  
4\. - Spring (a rebirth story. incomplete, messy, and I have zero notes beyond what I wrote in this. I have no idea what the plan was, beyond Loki's rebirth)  
5\. - two cut scenes.


	2. Chapter 32 and notes on 33, 34

Loki keeps a knife in the bedstand drawer. Kept. 

Now, it sits heavy in Steve's pocket, neat and folded and so small, like it's no threat at all. Like Steve is over-reacting, to get it out of the drawer and bring it with him. 

(Loki was so _listless_.)

He feels half-smothered, like a storm approaching and turning the air too thick, too wet for human lungs to breathe.

The storm is already past--it did when he lost his temper and he's left standing in the wake, trying to breathe through the guilt. 

(Loki was so _listless_.)

He wishes apologies could be enough.

(Maybe he should go.)

Xxx

Thor doesn't say anything; it makes it so much worse. Thor barely acknowledges him, and Steve wonders if maybe he's the self-destructive one--how he wants to tell Thor what has happened is so far from self-preservation. 

Steve tells himself Thor isn't talking about it because they're not alone, and Loki needs to stay out of SHIELD's hands. He's protecting Loki, being the older brother he always has tried to be. 

(Thor's fury might feel like absolution; Steve hates himself for the thought; as if any one but Loki could give it to him now and it mean anything.)

Xxx

Olek doesn't call, and Steve tries to take it as a good sign. 

Xxx

"You okay?" Clint asks later, when they're both tired and dirty from trying to help with the cleanup. "Is Luke?"

"No," Steve says. "His ribs are broken, some other injuries."

Clint winces. 

"He'll pull through."

"Yeah," Steve says. The knife he's been trying to ignore is still a heavy weight. 

Loki will pull through, and how little Steve has done to make sure of that. As if Loki won't manage to find another knife if he's determined. 

(Loki was so _listless_\--and what cold comfort that is.)

"You need anything, let me know," Clint says. 

It's too much kindness; Steve doesn't deserve it. Clint should be furious with him, would be if he knew everything. Would likely be glad of what's happened. 

"I need to go," Steve says thickly, and leaves before Clint can reply.

Xxx

(_It's what you wanted, isn't it?_)

He dry retches in a back alley; he doesn't know for how long. He's going to be late to meeting Olek, but he doesn't care. The words keep repeating, the widen of Loki's eyes, the devastation--

(_Later Loki breathes, exhausted, still. Later._)

\--and Steve comes up for air. He sucks down lungful a at a time, tasting the still settling dust on the air, the distant smoke of fires long put out. The air is hot and still and oppressive; it'll be days before the smell of smoke leaves if it doesn't rain. 

He rests his head against his forearm for a moment, then stands back, shoving a hand through his hair. He checks the time--late, of course he's going to be late. 

Olek hasn't tried to call or text, though, and if Steve hurries it won't be too bad. Maybe he isn't the only one running late. 

Xxx

Olek isn't at the restaurant, but the to-go order is ready. Steve hesitates, waits a few minutes just in case, and double checks his phone. Nothing. When he calls Olek instead, there's no answer. 

Steve's stomach knots. 

(Everything is fine. No one's called. Everything is fine.)

He pays for the food and carries it out. He'll stop by the apartment, Olek is probably there. Lethe probably couldn't stop by, or Loki doesn't want him to leave. Natasha certainly couldn't get away right now to keep an eye on Loki, stuck in medical for now. Olek just forgot to let him know, left his phone on silent. 

It wouldn't be the first time. 

Just as he gets back and is unlocking the door, his phone rings. Steve shuffles everything around, answering just before it stops ringing--_Lethe_. 

"Hi, Lethe. I'm just getting back," Steve says by way of answer. 

Everything is fine; if she were here, she'd have heard him unlocking the door. She's calling to say she's running late, or maybe Loki wanted to get out of the apartment for a bit. 

(He remembers how sickly pale and pained Loki was after moving; maybe not.)

"Hi, Steve. I, um. I had to bring Loki back to the hospital."

Steve's mouth goes dry.

"Hes not dying or anything, but I left his wallet and need his insurance information?" Lethe pauses, adds awkwardly, "I thought you might know it."

Xxx

"I don't know what's going on," Lethe says, "but Janelle thinks it might be best if you stay out here for now." She worries at her lower lip as she looks up at him, but she's not hunching in and her stance is firm. 

Steve can't bring himself to smile, but he does nod. 

"I can do that."

"Thank you," Lethe says. "For, you know. Bringing this. Listening. We left in a bit of a hurry."

Steve doesn't need to ask why, not if Janelle's involved. 

"How is he?" he asks instead. 

"Alive, not bleeding all over everything. I cleaned him up, some, but those sheets are probably ruined. Sorry." Lethe takes a steadying breath, swallows and looks away from Steve. "Sorry. I didn't know-- As soon as Janelle thinks him having other visitors is okay, I'll tell you."

"Thank you," Steve says. "I'm glad you were there."

Lethe gives a right nod before turning to go. She stops, glancing over her shoulder. 

"Olek is probably going to be on his way; he didn't answer his phone, but I left him a message. Let him know, will you?"

"Of course," Steve says. 

He sits down in a waiting chair after she leaves, watches people go by. 

_As soon as Janelle thinks him having other visitors is okay--_

He puts his face in his, hands, squeezes his eyes shut, and breathes out. 

"Fuck."

Xxx

[[olek and steve fighting; olek taking steve to task about _everything_; he’s _spitting angry_ about what steve said to loki, and steve gets to find out what _loki_ heard vs what he was he was trying to say]]

[[hospital room, loki’s sedated. turns out that lethe has power of attorney, and has had for a while. she tells them she agrees with janelle that loki should be admitted to a ward for a little while

lethe making it clear _neither_ of them are getting more or less of a say--she’s in pretty protective mode, and really suspicious from coming in on olek angry with steve]]

[[steve going home with absolutely no idea what to do; janelle stopping him before he can leave and asking if he needs anything (like a therapIST, CHRIST BOY)]]

\--this is steve’s wake up call that his temper is, in fact, still a problem and that’s he’s _really really bad_ at reading/understanding loki, too reactionary/overprotective where loki is concerned. 

chapter 33 - steve being more subdued; visiting loki at ward and apologizing during one of loki’s more coherent moments. 

lethe asking steve why the hell he’s so upset/why olek was upset with him. steve admitting it to her and lethe’s mouth tightening, but not nodding

going straight from there and ending on him walking into a therapist’s office.

chapter 34 - loki pov, what the hell he’s going through and slowly starting to get a bit more of a feel for things again. janelle sessions? also seeing lethe. lethe is really going to carry him through this by presence

It starts with Thor.

(It started before that, sick and empty ache in his chest--_it’s what you wanted, isn’t it?_\--that won’t stop _echoing_.)

“What did you say to him?” Thor asks. Steve glances over, stomach dropping; he doesn’t need to ask who Thor is talking about.

"When?" Steve asks instead. 

"I saw him tell you to get out--heard it, actually. I..." Thor trails off and looks away. "I knew him, once, and that reaction is not one he often has so extremely. I thought I might be able to help, if you told me what you had said to evoke it."

Steve tries not to stare--of course Thor doesn't know what Steve said. He's almost relieved. 

"Pay me no mind," Thor says, interrupting Steve's thoughts with a forced smile. "You surely must know him better than I by now."

Half smothered under guilt, Steve wonders if he actually does. 

"Now come on," Steve says, pushing the thought away. "Any help would be appreciated, and you grew up with him long before I came along." He hesitates--he should tell Thor everything, knows he should, but-- "I had told him to be more careful. I was trying to be light about it, and it just..."

"Escalated," Thor says helpfully, and Steve nods.

He should tell Thor everything. 

"He does that when he thinks himself weak," Thor says. Steve listens to Thor and pretends that that was all he said to Loki for a while. 

(He doesn't feel less guilty.)

XXX

He goes to meet Olek to pick up food to take back to the apartment--Indian, one of Loki's favourites. Like it will make things better, but he doesn't know what else to do without pushing and there's only so many ways he can apologize. 

(Loki was so _listless_ when he left--not just because of pain, either.)

Olek is thin lipped when Steve meets him, little more than a short, "Steve" in greeting. 


	3. Frost

“Loki?” Steve says gently, brushing a hand along Loki’s jaw.

_Fuschite_, Steve thinks as Loki’s lashes flutter open. They’ve been Fuschite and Pale Cobalt Green more often lately, and it worries Steve. He tells himself it’s not unusual, that it’s Loki’s vision nowadays more than anything, that it doesn’t mean anything else. 

“Here,” he says, picking up Loki’s glasses from his lap. 

Loki hums as Steve sets them on his face, still waking up, and Steve pushes a few strands of silvery hair aside gently. Leaning into the touch, Loki’s eyes close again, and Steve rubs his finger along Loki’s cheekbone. 

(It’s not the first time he’s thought how papery Loki feels now, like dream dust barely held together.)

“You want to go inside and sleep?” Steve asks.

“No,” Loki murmurs. “No, it’s a nice day. Warm.” He stirs again, pulling away from Steve’s hand, and Steve lets it drop back to Loki’s knee. 

Loki’s eyes open, and he blinks lazily at the garden before focusing on Steve. 

“We should go on a picnic,” he says. 

“Are you sure?” Steve asks. Loki looks mildly annoyed at the question. “Of course you are.” He presses a kiss to Loki’s hands before standing, then helps Loki up. “Where?”

“Do you remember where you took me for my birthday that first year?” 

“Of course,” Steve says with a smile. “Do you want something special?”

Loki shrugs, making his way back inside. Steve stays in the backyard a moment longer by the apple tree, looking over the garden. The lilies, he think, look a little ragged, and he makes a note to check them later.

XXXXXX

It’s warm for late fall, warm enough to be mistaken for early in the season. It’s a beautiful day for a picnic, and Loki seems pleased by the trip away from the city. He doesn’t slouch or sulk in the car like he did that first time, but his hand still twines in Steve’s while he stares out the window.

(Steve knows so much of Loki’s pleasure is it being somewhere away from _people_, where no one will look at them oddly.)

“Do you remember,” Loki says idly after a bite of lemon meringue pie (something Loki made, because Loki still insists Steve has no idea what he’s doing even if Steve follows Loki’s notes exactly), “surprising me by bringing me here?”

Steve doesn’t say he’s already told Loki he remembers, that Loki had asked before they left. These days, it doesn’t even make him stiffen, nothing to give away the lapse of the short term. He just wraps his arms around Loki and buries his nose against Loki’s neck.

“I do,” he tells Loki. 

Loki sinks back against him with a sigh, eyes closing, resting his arms on Steve’s.

“It was a very lovely gift.”

“I’m glad,” Steve says.

“What does it look like, today?” Loki asks.

Steve tells him. He knows Loki knows the gist, that it’s fall and not mid-spring, that the trees are reds and oranges and golds and starting to be mostly bare now, but those things are true of any autumn. What he says are all the details that Loki doesn’t see because Loki despises wearing his glasses for any length of time.

(Not for the first time he’s grateful that if one of Loki’s senses was going to go, it was his sight, because Loki was and is so focused around _sound_, and sometimes he almost thinks Loki likes how Steve talks about the world more than being able to see it.)

At some point, Loki dozes off. Steve waits a while to wake him, because he knows that soon it’ll be winter--the first frost is supposed to be soon, from what Loki’s told him--and he knows how much Loki enjoys idle naps in the heat.

That it gives him an excuse to hold Loki, well, it’s not like he really needs one.

XXXXXX

“Thor wants to know if he can come by for dinner.”

Loki pauses playing the piano for a moment, giving Steve a look like Steve should know what Loki thinks of that.

Steve waits, though, because Loki changes his mind on the acceptability of Thor's presence every few hours.

“Oh, _fine_,” Loki sniffs, “but tell him if he makes it rain I will throw him out myself. It's been lovely today and he’ll only make it damp and miserable.” 

Steve smiles, cups Loki’s chin and tugs up, stealing a kiss. Loki leans into it slightly before drawing back, attention turning to whatever he's pulling out of the air. 

XXXXXX

"Loki!"

"I am neither deaf nor glass, Thor," Loki complains as Thor hugs him carefully, but he's smiling, blinking and attempting to focus on his brother (Steve is ready to swear he just set Loki's glasses back on his face and wonders where they are now). "And don't you even _think_ about rain." 

"Of course not, brother," Thor promises. "Steve, it is good to see you once more." 

Steve grins, meeting Thor's embrace. 

"Good to have you."

Steve enjoys having Thor to dinner--for all his snark, Loki always seems to take pleasure in his brother's visits, a little of Thor's excess energy managing to rub off and making Loki a little more animated, a little more lightning and a little less hearth fire. Steve loves Loki no matter what, but sometimes he misses how _sharp_ Loki's tongue was, and maybe it's because they're brothers, but Loki picks it back up like an old coat whenever he's exposed to Thor for any length of time. Steve suspects it's the only way Loki knows to talk to Thor. 

"We should play a board game," Thor announces after dinner. "I brought one with me!"

"You and your board games," Loki says. "And where did you put it? You weren't carrying anything when you." 

"He gave it to me before you came in," Steve says. "The better question is where did you put your glasses?"

Loki looks momentarily guilty. Well, for a second, which is a second longer than usual when Steve asks. 

"How do you expect to play if you cannot see?" Thor asks. 

"Fine, fine, I'll fetch them. And only _one_ of these silly games," Loki says as he stands, swatting Thor's hand away as his brother reaches to help. "_No_, I don't need help, I know exactly where I left them, stop _hovering_ Thor, have you turned into one of your rain clouds that you need hover so?"

"Sorry," Thor says, but Loki is not listening, grousing to himself as he leaves the dining room. 

"I _have _tried to keep my emotions in check this year," Thor tells Steve while Steve grabs the board game. 

"I know," Steve assures him, pulling out pieces. "_Ghost Stories _again?"

"He seemed to enjoy it last time. I like the chance to play at fighting by his side once more."

"He does. He talked about it after you left, retelling what he remembered." 

"How has he been?" Thor asks softly after a few moments of quiet; listening for Loki, Steve knows. 

“Well as he can be. A little more forgetful, enjoying the last bit of warmth. It not raining has helped, so thanks for that.”

Thor nods, swallowing, laying out the last few pieces.

“Of course,” he says. “Has he mentioned--”

Steve shakes his head.

“No. I don’t think he will.”

“No,” Thor agrees and thunder rumbles.

“_Thor_!” Loki shouts.

“It is not raining!” Thor calls back, forcing himself to grin before leaving Steve at the dining room table. Steve listens as Thor talks to Loki, to Loki’s quiet replies, and waits a few moments.

(He has no idea what he thinks of Thor’s offer of one of Indunn’s apples to Loki nearly two decades ago, no idea why Loki had turned it down, except he thinks he does know. Loki is content, happy, and no matter what Thor might wish and hope, it will begin to tear down the wall Loki has kept firmly in place between himself and Asgard.)

“Steve,” Loki says at the doorway, almost on cue, frown tugging his lips into a tight line, eyes vaguely annoyed. “Where did I place my glasses?”

Steve offers a smile to Loki as he looks up, reassuring to Loki’s tension. This is better, he knows, than normal; normally Loki will entirely forget he was even looking for something if interrupted. It does not change how it distresses Loki to be caught in half-remembrance. 

“Here,” Steve says, waving Loki over. He tugs the glasses out of Loki’s pants pocket and settles them on his face in a practiced motion, brushing his fingertips over the tops of Loki’s ears and running them down the back of Loki’s neck, soothing touch to let Loki know _This is okay. I love you_. Loki relaxes with a chuckle and lopsided grin, blinking at the sudden shift in focus, and while he’s still sorting out being able to _see_ Steve leans in and catches his lips in a kiss. 

Loki hums, low and warm and content, relaxing the rest of the way.

“What’s this?” Loki asks when he finally pulls away, noting the game set out on the table. “Oh, this is that one, isn’t it, that Thor brought last time, what was it--”

“_Ghost Stories_,” Thor says from the door.

“Ah yes. Yes, I remember now. But why did you set it up in here? The living room is far more comfortable.” 

“I am glad to see you are still as demanding as ever,” Thor teases and helps Steve gather everything and follow Loki into the living room.

XXXXXX

“Thanks again,” Steve says as he shows Thor out. “Even if he complains, he does like having you over for dinner.”

“It is nothing,” Thor says. “I should be the one to thank you. You are a good man, Steve, and I am eternally grateful that my brother found you. I could never have dreamt a better match for him.”

“You say that every time.”

“And it is no less true.”

Steve shakes his head. He can’t understand the idea of _not_ doing these things for Loki; he loves him, and none of the changes that have happened have made him any _less_ the man he loves. If perhaps Loki needs a little more help, a reminder from time to time, a hand to steady him, someone to find his glasses he always abandons and detail what the world looks like, well, it’s no less than anything Loki would do and has done in the past for Steve.

“Have a good night, Thor,” Steve tells him.

“And you, brother.”

They hug again, and Steve closes the door softly, padding back into the living room. Loki is where Steve left him on the couch, a knit blanket over his shoulders, dozing. Steve scoops him into his arms, shushing Loki when Loki stirs a little.

(He doesn’t think about how _light_ Loki is.)

“Not a maiden,” Loki mumbles, rubbing his face against Steve’s chest to knock his glasses off. They rest on his stomach as Steve carries him to bed, and Steve’s grateful--last time, he nearly stepped on them when they fell in the floor. Loki wouldn’t consider it a loss right up until he needed to read something, but then Steve knows he’d never hear the end of it.

“I know,” Steve tells him, but Loki is already asleep again.

It’s not terribly difficult to change Loki without fully waking him, not anymore, and once he’s settled in bed, Steve trades out for his own pajama bottoms before slipping into bed (Loki enjoys the feel of skin, the heat of it, and once Steve realized--because _of course_ Loki didn’t tell him that, too much ache from when Loki first struggled with aging and Steve with _not_\--he started finding little excuses and reasons to indulge Loki’s love). Loki presses into his side and Steve wraps an arm around him, burying his face in Loki’s hair before drifting to sleep.

XXXXXX

“Steve,” Loki slurs sleepily. “_Steve_.”

Steve rubs his face against the pillow, tightening his grip on Loki.

“Steve, wake up,” Loki says, insistent, a little less asleep, and the hint of urgency in his voice makes Steve start awake the rest of the way.

“Loki? What’s wrong, love?” Steve asks, realizing Loki has twisted around, is facing him, eyes heavy-lidded.

Loki grabs hold of Steve’s neck, tugs him down, and kisses Steve. There’s heat to it, passion and fire and hint of a bite; Loki kisses him like they’re both in their twenties again, everything all edges and and breathless falls as they stumbled, and it leaves Steve dizzy when Loki pushes him back. His thumb strokes along Steve’s cheekbone as Steve stares at him, utterly bewildered.

“Loki?”

“I love you,” Loki tells him. “That’s all. I love you.”

“And I love you,” Steve says, rubbing Loki’s arm. “Is everything okay, love?”

“Yes,” Loki says with a smile as he curls closer to Steve, eyes closing. “It is.”

Steve swallows, uncertain, confused, but pulls the blankets closer around them both because he knows how Loki loves blanket warmth mixing with skin heat. Loki feels fine in his arms, breath already evening out again. No tremble, no fever, no flutter pulse, nothing unusual, and Loki doesn’t lie about feeling unwell or pain. 

The brush of Loki’s breath against his chest is soothing, and eventually he falls asleep again. Lighter, though. Just in case.

XXXXXX

Steve isn’t sure what wakes him the second time. It can’t have been long--perhaps an hour, maybe two. It’s quiet--only a few birds awake, the weird spot when there’s so little traffic outside it might not exist. But there’s something _off_, and he doesn’t have the ear to place noise the way Loki does.

He runs a hand through Loki’s hair, about to settle down again, when he looks down and realizes he should be able to feel Loki’s breath. 

“Loki?” he says, voice tight in his chest, heart twisting. Then louder, “Loki.”

He shakes Loki’s shoulder gently, but Loki doesn’t stir. 

“Loki, love, come on,” Steve says, fumbling, stroking Loki’s hair, “wake up, love.”

He chokes on a sob, hands unsteady, rubbing Loki’s arm, other feeling for a breath, a pulse, _something_.

“_Loki_,” he sobs. “Loki, _love_, wake up, please, love, Loki, _Loki_, please, please, please love, wake up, come on, wake up, it’s morning, love, wake up, _please_.”


	4. Spring INCOMPLETE

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> NOT FINISHED. LIKE EVERYTHING ELSE IN THIS SERIES.

The souls of the dead are quiet things.

She supposes it would be more fitting, more *myth*, if they were not--if they howled and cried and bemoaned their fate. Those are ghosts, the undead, those who would not let go, and they do not come to her kingdom while they yet cling to life. In truth, the souls here do not even remember the life they have left.

Not much.

Hela does not often pay mind to the souls that drift in her kingdom, though much of what her kingdom does is protect them.

(No one is quite sure when the ruler of Nifelheim decided to protect the souls that gather in its mists, but then no one remembers a time there were not souls that needed protecting, either.)

The few guests who come to her kingdom--traders mostly--marvel at the souls. She supposes they are worth marveling at: gentle, drifting, each iridescent opalescence. They flit between forms half-ingrained as they shed their former life. Some tend to playfulness, but most simply wander.

Occasionally, she sees a soul as it fades, mist pierced by the sun. Reborn. It is less common a sight than she first expected--as cats will hide and die alone, so do souls rebirth.

XXXXXX

"...and they should be arriving--"

Hela looks up from the list she is examining as Leah stops speaking; fortunate, for her young aide has stopped, staring at the courtyard, and Hela would have ran into her. Hela frowns slightly, turning her attention to the courtyard.

Flowers. 

From side to side, the entire courtyard is layered in flowers--roses and lilies, freesias that bend and barely bloom. Vines along the walls, vibrant bursts and sprays of colours, and above it all a single apple tree bent by the weight of its fruit. There have no scent though, and when Hela steps forward, little physicality but--

(*the freesias are staying, I want an apple tree there, no, you have the roses*)

\--certainly another kind of -ality. 

Hela knows the voice of that memory well. 

"Stand aside, Leah," she sighs. 

"I've never seen such a thing," Leah says as she moves, wide-eyed. "It's... it's lovely."

"Indeed," Hela says, for it is that. It is also fleeting rare--the spirits given to these sorts of display rarely do so where they can be disturbed, but then her foster father has always been drawn to fine things. Little is so fine as the palace of Nifelheim (not even Asgard's halls, though she is aware many would argue). "Watch carefully, you will need repeat this often I suspect. Gently."

It is not so difficult a working, to tidy up the garden. Not difficult, but certainly delicate to nudge a sprawled soul together once more. There is a sigh on the air that has nothing to do with the wind, a certain bit of resistance as Hela works her spell, and then all at once the garden shrinks and coalesces.

The form left looks a bit like her foster father, at least to eyes used to picking out the essences that follow a soul from life to life. The bare hints of long limbs and lines, presence quiet but no less amused, and *hot*. Fire, flickering and lapping but not threatening to burn beyond its home. Greens and golds, and, odder, a bit of blue--that, she does not remember from when she last Looked at him.

"You mustn't block the paths," she tells him.

She dare says he snorts at her before he changes form: bird, or bird enough, leaping into the air and flying away.

"He--it is a he?--seems very..."

"Lively," Hela finishes for her aide. "I suspect things will grow more interesting here for a time."

Leah's head is tilted back, watching as Loki's spirit settles high on a spire of the east tower, bright against Nifelheim's ever present clouds.

"An ur-soul," Leah says. "We haven't seen one of those since Baldr died. Will he hide, like that one, do you think?"

"If we were only so lucky," Hela says dryly. "Come, you will see him plenty. When are the Vanir arriving?"

XXXXXX

"Is he here?" Leah asks, hovering at the door.

Hela prods the wolf-shaped spirit at her feet with a toe

(*she is very good, look she agrees with me, Sheeba, where, fur under hands and a sorrowful brown ey--*)

and smiles. 

"Tame for the moment."

"I've looked everywhere for him, do you know that? Yves is furious--the kitchens are in total disarray, it looks like a-a-a battle, or a temper tantrum--"

Hela prods Loki again, more sharply, 

(*Come here, Fenrir, good boy, yes, let’s go before--*)

and the spirit rolls over, clearly disinterested in what she thinks of his behavior.

Leah sighs, collapsing down next to him, pulling him half in her lap and burying her face against his corpus. Loki's hum in the air is pleased, shimmer vibration that suggests a key, distant--D major, perhaps.

"Don't grow too attached," Hela says, rote more than anything.

"I know," Leah says, voice distant and a little dreamy. "He has such beautiful memories...."

Hela thinks of her foster father's latest life.

"They will not stay so," is all she finally says. 

(She will not forbid this--Leah may still be young, but this is not the first spirit she has ever grown attached to. This accounting, this ability to love and yet let go, is important; one day, Hela hopes to name Leah her heir.)

"I know," Leah says. "He reminds me of someone, I think."

"Another life."

"Perhaps." She runs a hand through the wisp-fire that is a constant presence around Loki. "Yves will likely be by soon."

"I gathered. Take him with you--and for Urd's sake keep him *fed* this time."

XXXXXX

Hela leaves Leah to deal with the soul, and beyond the occasional prank, it is, for her, as if he is hardly there.

(She does not resent him; she loves him, as well as she loves any single person.)

At least, until he sets fire to a room in the palace. 

"I don't know what happened," Leah tells her. "He was *fine*, sleeping and--"

The flames are hot, yes, but more interestingly to Hela, they are *blue.* Blue-white, eating at the walls of the palace, devouring the furniture and rug. The palace will be fine--he is hardly the first soul to ever lash out with such force, and Nifelheim is prepared no matter how rare the occurrence might be. But blue? This is not Loki's soul, not as she knows it. 

"Another life," Hela says. 

"Yes, well, this is dreadful." Leah crosses her arms, glaring into the room. 

Hela smiles. 

"Likely worse for him, to react this way. “


	5. two cut/reworked scenes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea where these fit anymore because I cannot reread the series without risking a relapse, so. Hopefully you have a better idea than me?

XXXXXX

“I need… assistance.” Loki spits the word like it has personally murdered his family. He sits on the edge of the bed, pajama pants folded next to him. Steve keeps his mouth shut and comes over. “Pull my shirt off. Please.”

A great deal of hissing, swearing, and Loki not being able to lift his arms up enough to get the shirt off later, Steve gets his pocket knife out and just cuts the damn thing off.

“How did you even get it on?” Steve asks, tossing it aside and finally seeing the mass of cuts and bruises, a wrap tight around Loki’s chest to keep his ribs in place.

“I believe it was all the morphine and tranquilizers they injected me with after I tried to throw a tantrum. Everything went fuzzy ‘bout the edges for a time.” Loki carefully slips into the pajama pants, then gathers together all the pillows into one pile. “Valhalla, I don’t think I’ve ever hurt so much in my life. How does anyone repeat these things knowing they might end up this way?”

“We’re all a bit insane.”

“At least it _explains_ something.” Loki settles gingerly back, hissing.

“Indeed.” Steve pulls the blankets around Loki’s waist. “Now get some rest. No moving about, tossing, turning, or disobeying doctor’s orders. I have to go work. You’re off your sleep meds until we get through the pain ones, but the pain ones are supposed to make you drowsy anyway.”

Loki eyes him skeptically.

The front door bangs open.

“I am here! I bring juice and flowers for our returned hero, and also the thanks of a beautiful young maiden!”

“You—!”

Steve kisses Loki firmly then bolts out of the room (not fleeing, just tactical movement in the reverse direction). Olek beams at him.

“No vodka,” Steve says. “I can’t believe I have to tell you that. And make sure he takes his meds.”

“Of course, Steve! I shall be as Cerberus to the underworld, keeping away all that could distract our beloved fire from burning bright once more!”

Steve eyes Olek. Olek only grins wider, giving Steve a friendly push towards the door.

“Go. He will likely fall asleep soon. I promise I won’t even drink in the same room as him.”

“He looks bad.”

“I doubt as bad as when Lethe first saw him. Now go. Bring me back Indian when you return, yes? You know it is his favourite.” Olek’s grin stays in place, but his eyes grow serious and reassuring in equal measure--a reminder that for all his jokes, Loki is also Olek’s friend and Olek is just as concerned for Loki as Steve.

“Right. Indian. I can do that.”

Steve leaves, closing the door on the sound of Olek’s cheer and Loki’s much quieter responses.

XXXXXX

Generally, ‘later’ in Loki’s terms tends towards weeks. Loki wants Steve to forget, wants to see how far he can push, wants to see if Steve will pry—but also decide what he wants to say. Steve understands; he's the same way sometimes, though he tends more towards just needing to figure out what to say and less towards poking things with a stick.

So he’s more than a little flat-footed when not even a full week later Loki brings it up again.

“It all makes sense you know.” Steve catches sight of a well-worn note, Loki’s fingers tracing elegant handwriting. Steve pauses putting away his sketchbook. “How she phrased it.”

Loki’s face is as still as the air before a storm.

“I should have realized.”

A sound, laugh and sob, strangled and pained. Steve crouches down by the couch, takes one of Loki’s hands. He presses a soft kiss to Loki’s fingertips.

“This is better than death,” he reminds gently.

That _noise_ again. Steve doesn’t flinch or frown, though he wants to.

“It is,” he says firmly. “Maybe some days are worse than others, but this _is_ better. You are better for it.”

“What does it matter? There is no… no… no ‘being worthy,’ no hammer to lift. It doesn’t matter at all.”

Steve takes a deep breath and ignores the stab of pain. Pushes back his own hurt and the flare of anger.

He gets it.

He wants to go home, too, sometimes. Wanted it most when the loss was fresh. This is likely worse for Loki, to have lost and lose again because _of course_ this would end and Loki would be taken back to Asgard once more.

Of course.

Loki is looking at him. His face is still still, eyes aware of what he’s said and the implications, glimmering at the potential of a fight.

Steve kisses Loki’s hand once more before he laces their fingers together.

“That little girl, Matilda, would be dead right now.” Loki frowns. “And you wouldn’t know Olek or Lethe or Sam or Sylvia. There wouldn’t be burnt pancakes or trips to the beach. Your head would still be abuzz all the time. You’d probably still think yourself a monster all the time instead of only some of the time.

“And maybe that doesn’t really matter to you,” _maybe I don’t matter to you_ (Loki’s selfishness must be rubbing off), “but I think you might be throwing the babe out with the bathwater.”

They stare at each other. Moments like this, Steve has no idea what Loki will do.

“You are the singularly most unfair person I’ve ever met,” Loki finally huffs, leaning his forehead against Steve’s.

“I know.”

“If you had said but one word about yourself…”

“I know.”

“I don’t deserve you.”

“It’s not about deserving, Loki. That’s not how we work.”

They move and shift until Steve ends up on the couch and Loki resting against him. Steve is sure it hurts but doesn’t tell Loki not to (sometimes, it isn’t about comfortable and instead about comfort; he’s done the same after being injured). He’s going to be late. The group will understand and save him a seat and beer.

“I note you say nothing about not deserving me.”

Steve kisses the top of Loki’s head.

“Stop trying to pick a fight you.”

“Sorry.”

Then

“I miss it. Them. And they’re _gone_.”

Steve holds Loki as he sobs, deep breath-stealing things, runs his fingers through Loki’s hair, and stays silent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all.
> 
> Thanks for everything.


End file.
